MANY BEES DIED THAT DAY

18 Oct

Got stung by shitloads of bees once upon a time. I was small then. My friend Matthew’s older brother was a right little bastard and he’d convinced us somehow to poke sticks good and deep into the hole-in-the-wall beehives common up in the Earth’s high places. This is total war to bees. They’re programmed to perform kamikaze attacks on any mammal foolish enough to stick their soft noses in. Do so and suffer. You never realized just how many tunnels there were until the bees swarm out the whole lot at once.

So bees are firing at us from everywhere. Hundreds. They get in your clothes; frenzy in your soft parts. Matthew and me helpless to do anything but scream and run. The bees coming with us. The brother keeping just outside of the perimeter the whole time. He knew about the behaviour of bees and Matthew’s profit on his brother’s learning is torture. The little shit.

The bigger shit then, laughing his arse off. Gleeful! Arsehole. He enjoyed our pain. Stung all over. Tender red welts on every part of our bodies. We spent the vacation in bed covered with calomine lotion. Bigger shit got away with it. Grew up to be a doctor. I guess he would’ve been starting out about the time Mandela took over. I guess he got out. A doctor? Shiver me.

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